


on the virtues of cake and lunch-sharing

by hiriki



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: (Harrow probably wins bc his dad factor is much stronger I'm sorry Runaan), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Callum is a pure angel baby, Domestic Fluff, Everyone is a dork, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Harry Potter References, His hubby is a jewelry designer, Humor, M/M, Other, Rayla and Callum are 7, Rayla is a huge nerd child that must be protected, Runaan and Harrow are quietly fighting to see who's the Ultimate Dad, Runaan is a fencing instructor, Runaan loves him but also loves baking cakes, everything is sugar and rainbows and harry potter, she loves harry potter and naruto and embarrasing her poor dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-14 22:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16049966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiriki/pseuds/hiriki
Summary: Sure, Rayla could be a little too passionate when it came to her interests, like that one time she spent two whole days giving Runaan the silent treatment because he refused to ‘Naruto run’ down the park with her (that was his one job as the ‘Sasuke’ of their trio, she had solemnly told him later on), or, more recently, when she cried for nearly a whole week because ‘Sirius Black didn’t deserve to die like that’ and promptly decided to wear black for the following few days. But violence? Kicking someone? That was unthinkable. Rayla could barely go for five minutes without worrying she had hit him too hard in the ribs when they were practicing fencing together, even though he was a grown man and a certified fencing instructor. Something about that story was off.





	on the virtues of cake and lunch-sharing

It’s one of those rare days where Runaan has the entire afternoon for himself; it’s his weekly day off from work, his husband is holed up in his studio downtown crafting god knows how many pairs of fancy earrings (all the while glaring at anyone who dares to interrupt his creative process, if Runaan knows him well — and he _does_ ), and their daughter is also very busy being the most responsible and smart tiny person at school. It might be a bit lonely, sure, but Runaan doesn’t exactly mind it; the eerie silence that envelops the house is just perfect for some quiet baking time, and, if all goes well, he should have a perfectly round strawberry sponge cake by the end of the afternoon, just before it’s time to pick up Rayla from school.

 

Of course, nothing ever goes well all the time, Runaan muses with faint irritation as his phone starts to vibrate on the kitchen counter. He abandons the egg he was about to crack and picks up his phone, and one glance at its screen is enough to inform him he’s receiving a call from… Lord Voldemort.

 

_Lord Voldemort._

 

Of course. It had to be Rayla’s doing.

 

He takes a moment to pinch the bridge of his nose, unconcerned with the white smudges of flour he might leave on his face, before accepting the call.

 

“Hey, Hermione.” His husband’s familiar voice greets him cheerily on the other side of the line.

 

Runaan groans loudly.

 

“Not you too.”

 

“You were supposed to say something like ‘what’s up, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’, but I’ll let it slide.” It’s both irritating and endearing that Runaan can practically _hear_ the smile plastered on his husband’s face. “Anyway. I have some news that might make you even grumpier. Maybe. Possibly.”

 

“Bad news, I take it?” Runaan sighs. Of course the universe is trying to ruin his hypothetically perfect strawberry sponge cake.

 

“Well, I just got this call from Rayla’s school, and—”

 

“What?” Runaan all but chokes on air, his cake suddenly forgotten in the depths of his mind. “Did something happen? Is she alright? Do I need to—”

 

“No, you don’t need to threaten anyone through the phone, just let me finish.” A short sigh follows. “Ray is perfectly alright, but, um… it seems… she kicked some other kid? And they wanted me to go there. To help sort things out. You know.”

 

“No, I don’t know.” Runaan’s nostrils tremble a little as he’s consumed by sheer indignation. “Our daughter? _Kick_ someone? That’s absurd and you know it.”

 

Sure, Rayla could be a little too passionate when it came to her interests, like that one time she spent two whole days giving him the silent treatment because he refused to ‘Naruto run’ down the park with her (that was his one job as the ‘Sasuke’ of their trio, she had solemnly told him later on), or, more recently, when she cried for nearly a whole week because ‘Sirius Black didn’t deserve to die like that’ and promptly decided to wear black for the following few days. But violence? Kicking someone? That was unthinkable. Rayla could barely go for five minutes without worrying she had hit him too hard in the ribs when they were practicing fencing together, even though he was a grown man and a certified fencing instructor. Something about that story was off.

 

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t sound like her, but we should go check it out anyway,” his husband says calmly, and his voice soothes a bit of Runaan’s bubbling indignation. “I’m a bit busy with all the orders, though, and I’m not sure if I can make it before…”

 

“I’ll go,” Runaan says promptly. “You should focus on your work. I’ll sort it out.”

 

There’s a small pause, and Runaan doesn’t need to be in the same room as his husband to know he’s smiling again.

 

“You’re too good to me, Runaan. Thank you.”

 

“Nonsense,” Runaan mutters, feeling his own ears grow a little hot, and, before they turn into a pair of grown men gushing over each other at the phone, he clears his throat and changes the subject: “I’ll stop by to pick you up after I get Rayla. Maybe we could eat out tonight?”

 

“That sounds lovely. Love you, Hermione.”

 

“That’s it, I’m hanging up.” But Runaan is smiling.

 

“Don’t you dare to do such a thing to the Dark Lord!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There are many things Runaan is good at, and one of them is making a great first impression, or so he’s been told numerous times. That’s why, when Runaan steps inside the principal’s office, long hair flowing majestically in the afternoon’s soft breeze, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows in a very casual-loving-dad-that-could-also-kill-you fashion, every pair of eyes in the room turns to him.

 

He looks at Rayla first; she’s taken a seat in front of the principal’s desk, at one of the cushy armchairs, her back very straight and tense against the dark leather. She gazes rapidly at him but quickly turns her attentions to her own feet. Sitting next to her is a small, skinny brown-haired boy, his panicked wide eyes suggesting he’d rather be anywhere else. He seems to be about Rayla’s age, carrying himself with a similar air of ‘I’m-only-seven-but-I-know-a-lot’ and decidedly avoiding Runaan’s eyes. He holds an ice bag firmly against the left side of his torso, but seems to be fine otherwise. Behind him, a tall, well-built man stands proudly, as if he’s about to march into war with his young sons; a toddler with a generous amount of fluffy hair rests on his arms, his tiny hands clinging furiously to a toad plushie. Runaan almost feels threatened by his cuteness; his dad instincts tell him it’s his duty to produce a picture of Rayla as a toddler and shove it in the man’s face, if only to let him know that Runaan’s daughter had also been a cute toddler once. Fortunately, he manages to rein in his competitive nature, and offers the man a simple nod; the man returns the gesture and has the gall to smile at him, as if they were a pair of suburban dads posing for a picture.

 

Runaan doesn’t smile back, because he is not there to make friends.

 

Professor Amaya gets up from her seat behind the large mahogany table and approaches him, taking his hand into a firm handshake and offering him a smile of her own, her assistant following behind her obediently; Runaan has to narrow his eyes in an attempt to read the colorful badge pinned to his chest. At last, he discerns the words “You can call me Gren! I’m here to help you!”, and decides he’s too old to understand the idyllic ways by which a middle school institution operates.

 

“Rayla’s father, isn’t it? We’re glad you could come,” Gren translates in a happy little voice as Amaya gestures to Runaan.

 

“Thank you for calling my husband,” Runaan holds her gaze and nods politely. “He couldn’t make it this time, but we’re both aware of the situation. I’ve been told Rayla hurt someone?”

 

The boy sitting next to Rayla flinches, seemingly trying to disappear into his seat, and Amaya presses her lips into a thin line. She glances back at Runaan before walking back towards her seat behind the table, and turns her attention to Rayla.

 

“Rayla, can you tell your dad what happened today?” Amaya asks her, and Gren mirrors her kind gaze into his own words as he translates.

 

It’s Rayla’s turn to flinch and sink a bit into her seat. She bits her lower lip and casts a confused glance at Amaya.

 

“It’s alright,” the Principal gestures calmly. “You can tell your own version of it. We won’t interrupt you.”

 

She directs a meaningful look at the boy and his dad, as if asking them to remain quiet for the time being, before returning her gaze to Rayla.

 

Sighing, Rayla turns her head to Runaan, a pinch of guilt tugging at her expression, but he doesn’t even have to say anything or prompt her to speak, not this time:

 

“I was… eating lunch. At the cafeteria.” Rayla lowers her gaze to her own intertwined fingers. “Callum… asked me for a piece of my lunch. He was very polite, but I didn’t want to give it to him, because today is cake day, and I don’t like to share my slice of cake.”

 

The boy — Callum — shifted uncomfortably under Runaan’s gaze. Runaan frowns at his daughter.

 

“So you kicked him? Just like that?”

 

“No!” Rayla and Callum all but yell in unison. Callum turns bright red and starts to tug furiously at a loose thread in his shirt; Rayla blinks at him, seemingly just as shocked as everyone else.

 

“Callum, please let Rayla speak for herself,” Gren’s voice is gentle, yet firm as he translates Amaya’s words. “You’ll be able to give us your own version of the facts after. Please continue, Rayla.”

 

“Okay.” Rayla nods, more to herself than anyone else, but raises her head to meet her father’s eyes. Runaan holds her gaze, trying to let her know it’s okay to tell the truth. “Callum asked very nicely, so I felt bad about not giving him a piece of cake. So I gave a bit of my cake to him. But then he… he…”

 

She trails off, sudden panic evident in her little eyes, and Runaan kneels down next to her armchair, never breaking eye contact with her. He rests a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it lightly.

 

 _It’s okay to be honest. It’s good to be honest._ He doesn’t say the words out loud, mostly out of fear of being called out by Amaya as if he was just another seven-year old in the room, but trusts that Rayla can understand the message on her own.

 

She lets out a small, shaky sigh, but starts speaking again.

 

“He started eating his piece… and then he just… he just started spitting it all out!” Her voice shifts into an accusatory tone, and Callum nearly disappears in the black leather of his seat. “I gave him a piece of my favorite cake after _he_ asked _me_ for it, and he acts like I forced him to eat dirt! So I kicked him and left him there.”

 

Rayla crosses her arm and raises her chin, basking in her righteous fury. Callum’s dad has the expression of a man who’s just been told his favorite dog did not, in fact, exist, and had been a product of his imagination all along.

 

For the first time since he walked into the room, Runaan feels a small pang of sympathy for the man.

 

“You kicked him,” Runaan repeats slowly, “because he didn’t like how your lunch tasted?”

 

Callum opens and closes his mouth very rapidly, his gaze flying between Amaya and Runaan, but doesn’t say anything.

 

“He just wasted my cake! The cake _you_ made for me and Dad!” Rayla directs a quick glare at Callum. “He just puked it out like it was poison. I can’t let anyone treat your cooking like that, Dad.”

 

And really, maybe Runaan should be flattered that his daughter thought it was only right she should defend her dad’s pride against the virulent opinions of a fellow middle-schooler, but this is a bit too much.

 

“Rayla, you don’t—”

 

“I believe Rayla isn’t done telling her story,” Gren’s voice cuts through the air, and Runaan himself nearly flinches under Amaya’s steely gaze towards him. Her hands move once again, and Gren hurries to translate her words: “What happened after, Rayla?”

 

“I… came to the Principal’s Office, to tell Professor Amaya I had kicked Callum.” Rayla lifts her chin again, her jaw set.

 

“What,” Runaan can't help but blurt out. He proceeds to ignore the pointy, judgemental stares of the other three adults in the room.

 

“It was the right thing to do.” Rayla continues. With a serious expression, she lifts a hand to her forehead and pushes a few locks of hair away from her skin, revealing a crude drawing of a lightning bolt done with pink marker. “It was what Harry Potter would do.”

 

The room grows quiet as everyone processes that particular bit of information. Gren struggles to choke back his laughter, but the sheer force of Amaya’s glare seems to help him regain his composure.

 

“It was what Harry Potter would do,” Runaan repeats her words, if only to let them sink in.

 

“Yes,” Rayla nods, and the same maniacal gleam that always takes over her eyes when she’s talking about something she loves pops up at that moment. “It’s like that one scene in the sixth book, when Harr—”

 

“No! _No no no no!_ ” Callum yells as he slams his fists against his ears, nearly making his rich suburban dad drop his fluffy toddler. When he realizes Rayla has stopped mid-sentence and everyone in the room is now looking at him, he blushes and lowers his hands. “Um. I’m still reading the third Harry Potter book. It’s very hard to avoid the spoilers sometimes.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Rayla utters apologetically.

 

“…Now that that’s been settled,” Amaya starts tentatively, “Callum, would you like to give us your version of the facts? It’s very important for us to listen to you both.”

 

“Um, yes. Yes.” Callum nods slowly, then grows quiet, as if waiting more orders. When they don’t come, he blinks in confusion: “Can I, um, can I start now?”

 

“Yes, please.” Amaya nods.

 

“Okay.” The boy’s knuckles grow white as he squeezes the ice bag a bit more than necessary, and Runaan has to force himself not to roll his eyes when the boy’s father mirrors his own gesture towards Rayla and puts a hand on his son’s shoulders. “It’s… it’s just as Rayla said. I asked for a piece of her lunch because it looked really tasty, and she— she gave it to me.”

 

“Oh?” Callum’s father raises a brow and was immediately shushed by Amaya’s icy ‘please-shut-up-and-let-your-son-speak’ glare. Runaan smiles to himself. At least he’s no longer the only humiliated dad in the room.

 

His phone buzzes discreetly at that moment, and a quick glance at the display lets him know he has one new text from “Lord Voldemort”. Hoping it’s not too impolite of him to check his phone while Callum gives his account of the facts, he risks taking a look at his husband’s message.

 

_how is it going w/ Rayla?? Please let me know when you can  (15:34)_

 

_ok but every time I see the name ‘Hermione’ under your pic on my phone I laugh myself to tears and everyone in the studio hates me for it (sorry just had to share it)  (15:34)_

 

Runaan bites back a smile, and quickly types a short response with one hand while keeping his eyes on Callum.

 

_Meeting is going fine. I’ll tell you the details later (15:35)_

 

_On a related note I really hate this kid’s dad. He looks like he has his life all figured out and it pisses me off. Like he could touch wet food while washing the dishes and feel happy about it. No one should ever be this confident and calm (15: 36)_

 

His phone buzzes only a few seconds later, and he reads his husband’s response in one quick glance.

 

_you hate everyone sweetheart (15:36)_

 

_pretty sure you hated me when we met (15:36)_

 

Runaan has a feeling Amaya will kick him out at any second for checking his phone so often, but this is too precious to go unanswered, and he decides that typing a quick response is worth risking her wrath.

 

_That is such a lie (15:37)_

 

_I know you still remember how I tripped over my own feet when we met because I was too nervous and stupid (15:37)_

 

_You were teasing me about that like, three days ago (15:37)_

 

_Don’t you dare imply otherwise (15:37)_

 

Some of his stupid side must still exist inside him, because Runaan grins like a lovesick idiot when he gets a text saying  _‘noo STOP BEING CUTE you’re supposed to be full of hate’_ in response. When the familiar feel of Professor Amaya’s piercing glare on his skin returns, he decides it’s time to put his phone aside, and devote his full attention to this young boy’s testimony.

 

“…and yes, I did try to, um, get the cake out of my mouth, but it didn’t— it didn’t taste bad!” Callum is saying defensively when Runaan’s gaze returns to him. “It was very tasty! And it looked nice, too! So nice it made me forget I’m not supposed to eat cake!”

 

“Oh,” Callum’s dad utters in quiet disbelief. “Th—”

 

“What?” Rayla scoffs, her little legs kicking the air. “You want me to believe that?”

 

“Yes, because it’s the truth!” Callum shifts nervously in his seat. “I can’t— can’t eat a bunch of things, because I’m, uh… what’s the word… _law… lab… lick…_ ”

 

“Lactose intolerant,” his father offers helpfully, squeezing his shoulder lightly. He turns his gaze to the rest of the room and repeats the words, with that calm little smile that implies his life is perfectly put together, and not even some goddamn bottle of milk could ruin it for him or his son: “He’s lactose intolerant.”

 

“Yes, that. Thanks, Dad.” Callum nods eagerly, eyeing Rayla with the desperation of a man trying to prove his innocence. “But it looked so good, and it was so tasty, I just forgot all about it… then I remembered and I got scared I would get sick like last time… so I, um, I panicked and tried to get it out of my mouth… I’m sorry…”

 

“I’ll go to the car and get the medicine,” Callum’s father walks towards the door with large, dad-like steps, but Runaan intervenes:

 

“There’s no need. I don’t use regular milk in my recipes. My husband also happens to be lactose intolerant.”

 

“Oh?” Callum’s dad blinks at him with sudden interest, as if he now wanted to know their entire life story, their insurance number and everything else in-between.

 

“I use rice milk in all of my recipes. Or almond’s milk.” Runaan shrugs. “Coconut milk might also work, depending on the recipe.”

 

“Then… then I could have eaten the cake?” Callum’s small voice comes between them.

 

The impressive mix of horror, regret and sadness that is plastered across the boy’s face is too much, even for Runaan. All the adults in the room laugh at that, while Rayla and Callum just stare at them in mild confusion. Callum’s dad walks back towards him and squeezes his son’s shoulders once again, but Callum jumps up from his seat, marches to Rayla and extends a trembling hand to her.

 

“I’m very sorry I did that to your dad’s cake,” he says in a tiny, somewhat scared voice. “I— I think you did the right thing when you kicked me. I was being rude. I’m sorry.”

 

“That’s— that’s okay!” Rayla accepts his hand a bit awkwardly, and shakes it slowly. “I shouldn’t have kicked you. My dads always say it’s bad to hurt others. That’s why I came to Professor Amaya and told her what I did wrong. Like Harry Potter would’ve done. I’m— I’m sorry, too.”

 

Callum smiles at that, seemingly at ease for the first time since Runaan walked into the room, and the kids shake hands for a while before looking at Amaya expectantly, as if she had promised them a prize if they made up.

 

“It’s good to see we were able to fix this misunderstanding,” Amaya gestures with a smile, her eyes never leaving the children. “I hope you take this lesson to heart. Rayla, remember you can always solve things through dialogue rather than violence. I commend you for being honest about what happened and telling me about it. And Callum, please remember you can always speak up, too. Many misunderstandings can be solved with only a few simple words.”

 

“Okay. Can we go now?” Callum asks anxiously, causing Gren to burst into laughter. When his father glances down at him with a mix of amusement and disapproval in his eyes, the boy shrugs. “What? All this talk of cake this, cake that. I want to eat something!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Rayla, don’t run to the car!”

 

But Rayla is already halfway into the parking lot, her arms stretched out behind her as she runs like a true ninja, letting out a little delighted squeal when Runaan finally catches up to her, holding her school bag in one hand.

 

“You’re too slow!” She sticks out her tongue at him playfully. “And it’s Harry.”

 

"Harry...?"

 

“I’m Harry Potter for a week, did you forget?” She dives into the backseat as soon as Runaan unlocks the doors. “I won our last Monopoly game, and I got to choose my prize like we agreed. So I’m Harry Potter, Dad is You-Know-Who because he can make the best You-Know-Who voice, and you’re—”

 

“Hermione, yes. Because I ruin everyone’s good time with my amazing intellect?”

 

“No,” she looks at him like he’s just tried to eat his own arms. “Because she’s smart and cool. Like you.”

 

“Well, in that case,” Runaan reaches out to tickle her, and Rayla lets out a delighted burst of laughter before scooting away from him, “thank you, _Harry_.”

 

“Are we going to pick up Dad from work?” She asks eagerly once he starts the car.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yay! Can we eat out today?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“ _Yeess!_ Can we invite Callum for cake sometime?”

 

“No.”

 

“But why not?” Rayla all but whines.

 

“His dad looks rich. I’m sure he can buy loads of lactose-free cakes for him.” He stops at a red light with a scoff.

 

“But _dad_ —”

 

“Hermione,” he corrects very seriously.

 

“Hermione,” she giggles, but continues, “I feel a bit bad about what I did to him. I know I apologized, but I wanted to make something nice for him.”

 

“Like a cake?” Runaan smiles.

 

“Yes! Like a cake.”

 

“Alright. But first lets ask what your dad— I mean, what _Lord Voldemort_ th—”

 

“Sshhh!” Rayla all but attempts to jump at the passenger seat to quiet him down, but her seat belt holds her in place. “You’re not supposed to say his name!”

 

“Well, if I’m Hermione, I can probably handle him on my own.” Runaan shrugs, feigning confidence, and Rayla lets out a delighted laugh.

 

“That’s not how it works!” She then lowers his voice, as if she was about to reveal a big, dark secret to him: “Will you tell him about it? About my fight with Callum?”

 

“Well, yeah. We’re a family, aren’t we?” Runaan gazes at her rapidly through the rear view mirror. “We tell all sorts of weird things to each other.”

 

“Then… can I tell you a secret?” Rayla jumps a little on her seat, excitement visible in her expression. “It’s a new one. You can tell it to Dad— to You-Know-Who, too.”

 

“That’s very generous of you,” Runaan says, somewhat amused. “So? What’s the secret?”

 

She pushes against her seat belt and attempts to whisper at her dad’s ear:

 

“When I kicked Callum, I imagined I was Snape throwing Dumbledore off the Astronomy Tower and killing him.”

 

“Oh my god, Rayla, what the hell.”

**Author's Note:**

> tfw you really want to write some family fluff that involves a nameless character that no one knows nothing about and you need to improvise like a crazy person to make up for the lack of name (thank you lord voldemort for helping me in this journey)
> 
> i honestly have no idea where this mess of a fic came from im so sorry i wrote this ahskdj
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IT!! I love this series a lot and I'm really sad because i don't have anyone to talk about it with me and there are only 9 episodes and I need more??? Also what's HIS name. Please let us know Runaan's mans name so I can stop coming up with weird excuses just to write a fic involving these two


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